


more than the world can contain

by koujakrude



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Men Crying, Post-Time Skip, no beta we die like Glenn, scene studies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24158314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koujakrude/pseuds/koujakrude
Summary: don't you love the colour of the sky?
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44





	more than the world can contain

The sky is bright blue, sunshine floods into the small tent, and Sylvain’s eyes slowly open.

The class – no, the army, had been on the trail of Edelgard’s followers for several days. While the empress herself had… passed, some minor noble minions were still wreaking havoc on the small towns they ruled over. Byleth’s army (though, Sylvain wasn’t sure that term suited them any better than class) were sent to extinguish the remaining embers of war, and while conflict was expected to be kept to a minimum, the supply wagons remained full and ready, should conflict arise. It had been days since they’d seen anything worth poking their heads into. Villages stood no more, their residents having fled days before the initial battles or perished defending their homes. Rubble got tiresome to look at after a while.

They were lucky to find a fortress that still stood strong enough for everyone to sleep without the fear of a brick coming down on their heads.

His lips are chapped, cracking in the middle as they peck the corner of Felix’s mouth. A hand wanders, upwards, fingers drumming light as they slide across his pectoral, resting at the base of his neck. The raven hair lays flared out, silky strands sticking up, bangs still coated in a light layer of sweat. It was warm last night, not to mention the additional heat created by their recreational activities. The cavalier smiles; the memory sending a twitch to his dick. Sylvain pulls Felix closer towards him. He minds the fact that the swordmaster is still quite adept while unconscious and calls his name barely above a whisper.

“Felix,” he says, still under the influence of sleep, “it’s morning.”

“No,” the other responds before making a prompt roll on his side. The sheets slip downwards, the top of a hip bone juts out slightly.

“If you don’t get up right now…” Sylvain reaches his other hand to trace against the newly exposed skin. The strokes of his nails are feather light, gooseflesh erecting in their wake. Sylvain continues the motion for a short time before migrating upwards to what he knows to be a ticklish area. His fingers arch in a predator-like stance, poised to strike at his most sensitive spot. “I’m gonna do it.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, my love, I would do anything to you.”

Sylvain lunges forward.

Felix jolts awake, legs kicking off the sheets in a white flurry, laughter erupting from deep inside his belly as he tries to pry Sylvain’s fingers from his armpit. But Sylvain is relentless in his attack, having now wrangled the kicking legs with his own, peppering kisses into the crook of Felix’s neck he wrestles away the defending limbs. He clamours on top, the additional weight locking Felix into a prone position. Sylvain can see the wetness gather at the edges of Felix’s eyes, can feel his chest huff in effort to catch his breath.

“I must have really outdone myself last night if you’re this exhausted,” another kiss, this time on Felix’s cheek.

The sky is warm and bright with the arrival of dawn.

The birds return to their nests in the trees of the now blood-soaked forest. The deer traipse through the beaten underbrush, the squirrels dance through the broken branches, butterflies begin to swarm the cooling bodies on the ground. It’s routine for them, the cyclical events of war. The forests have grown over the armour left behind, providing a shelter for souls now lost.

He can’t feel much of anything, except for the man who clings to him tightly, as if fearing that the slightest give in his grip will mean the end.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t… Sylvain…”

Sylvain coughs, and the wound in his chest threatens to spill more blood, scarlet and warm, onto Felix’s lap. He wants to apologize, but the dryness of his throat burns. He wraps his fingers around Felix’s arm, weak but present. Felix is warm too, but warm with life, instead of the fleeting kind. Sylvain only stares up into Felix’s dark eyes. Felix blinks back tears, but even he cannot fight the quiet sobs emanating from his throat.

Sylvain hates it when anyone cries. Now more than ever.

“Don’t go, don’t leave me.”

Sylvain shakes his head and squeezes his fingers tight. “Couldn’t…” he says, his throat burns, but he continues, “if I tried. I am bound to you forever.”

He slips into a state of unconsciousness, immune to the sound of voices rushing towards them.

The sky is cool and dark, bright stars twinkle and glimmer, the moon lording over them all.

Sylvain tries to shuck off the blankets but quickly discovers the slight effort to move his arms is too much to bear. He’s sore, exhausted, and can’t remember the last twenty-four hours. He moves his head, grimacing at the residual sweat that slicks his forehead and makes his pillow damp, to see Mercedes wringing out a cloth in the corner of the room. Her hair blankets across her shoulders in tangles, the hair tie nowhere in sight. The strain of the cloth suggests her weariness, and Sylvain cannot help but feel guilty. Magic casters had cooldowns too, but Sylvain is too tired to think about in-depth logistics right now. She folds it into a small rectangle, reaching for the nearly finished candle and glides to his bed, unaware of his gaze. Mercedes gasps, the candle in her hand threatening to teeter over the edge as she fumbles with the cloth.

“Oh! Oh good! You’re awake. Here,” she blots his face, the coolness of the water quickly seeps into his pores. “We haven’t moved very far from where we were, Ashe found us a small clearing, although it was initially housing some bandits, but everyone, except you, was able to take care of it,” she pulls the blankets down and dabs at his neck before returning to the basin to wring it once more.

“Where’s Felix?” 

“Talking to the professor, I think. He was here just a little while ago,” she responds. The cloth in her hands is set aside, and she wipes her hands on her skirt before bringing them close to her chest. “You scared us, Sylvain, rushing in like that.”

“I know.”

The night is cold and quiet. Felix spoons him from behind, their fingers intertwined with one another. Their breathing is even, soft.

The wound proves to heal quick. The pain, however, lingers and aches, and Sylvain seems to sleep more in the fetal position these nights, rather than the spread eagle he used to hog their entire bed. It makes him more cautious (though he’s reluctant to say that he’s scared). It leaves an ugly scar on the lower left side of his chest, gnarled despite the efforts to smooth it out. Sylvain jokes that it’s a mark of survival. Felix hates when he jokes like that. So now, Felix holds Sylvain from behind, a constant presence.

Felix wakes just before he does. It’s Sylvain; breathing coming out in laboured huffs accompanied by quiet, distressed moans. His head turned and tossed, legs kicked the sheets off, and all Felix could do was try to slowly wake him up.

Sylvain gasps. His hand clutches Felix’s fingers tightly.

“It’s alright, I’m here, let it out my love,” Felix coos, brushing aside a patch of hair to place a kiss at Sylvain’s temple.

Sylvain doesn’t quite cry just yet. Instead, the tears pour from his eyes like a small river, quickly salting his cheeks and moistening the pillow. He twists around to face Felix and tucks his head underneath his lover’s chin. A hand graces up and down his back, covers are drawn back up around him. Sylvain bites his lip in attempt to hold back a louder sob. His nose is stuffed now, forcing him to huff air through his mouth. He can’t help it; he sobs into Felix’s chest. Felix feels his heart wrench in empathy. They’ve been there. Each and every one of them.

Holding their friends, lovers, allies covered in blood, doing all they can to haul them to a medic, or at least a place they can pass without enemies taking advantage. Sylvain knows he’s lucky, knows that sometimes they can’t go back for those who fell.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Felix offers, tilting Sylvain’s face up to see the red-rimmed eyes and snotty nose. He’s still beautiful, in these vulnerable moments, but Felix silently wishes he didn’t have to see the tear stains or scars at all.

Sylvain’s breathing has levelled out somewhat, but he stays quiet. He snuggles as close to Felix as he can. It’s the comfort, the weight of someone else, the knowledge that he isn’t alone that steadies his racing heart.

“I can’t,” Sylvain finally responds. Talking about it is too much. He wants to forget.

“That’s alright, it can wait,” Felix says.

The sky is overcast with rolling clouds that spill rain onto the grasslands.

It’s cool, but not cold enough to bring anything heavier than a cloak with them. Sylvain has brought along with them a tarp, tying it to the trees to provide a temporary roof. He likes the drumming of droplets against the fabric. Felix is there, too, currently occupied with a hand pie, curtesy of Ashe and Dedue. The pastry crumbs stick to his lips, his thumbs, his thighs.

“I ought to blow you, looking like that.”

Felix chokes, taking a second to clear his throat before whipping his head around to stare at his lover. “It’s too cold to have my dick out,” he says, going back to his pie, but he files the offer away for later. He doesn’t notice Sylvain play with something in his hands, or that Sylvain hasn’t continued to badger him to give him a blowjob. Felix figures Ashe and Dedue could send these pies to the more celibate communities. They’d make quite the coin.

Sylvain is tired of being ignored. He grabs Felix’s hands and kisses the knuckles, looking up at him through thick lashes. Felix doesn’t think he’ll ever not blush when he does this. But then Sylvain releases him, only to hold out a ring in his palm.

Felix feels warm tears slide down his face, contrasting against the cool air. “What are you doing?” His voice barely registers above a whisper.

“Marry me.”

Yes. Yes yes yes yes yes. Don’t leave me, please love me, don’t let me go.

“Earth to Felix?” Sylvain says, nervous smile stretching across his face. The tears are probably alarming him. Felix swallows. And nods. He nods so fast his head spins a bit, but soon enough strong arms are enveloping him in a tight embrace, and he can feel Sylvain plant kisses across his cheeks and nose.

“I love you,” Felix cries.

“More than the world can contain,” Sylvain finishes.

**Author's Note:**

> this sat in my drafts for... many moons.


End file.
